So why did we watch it? Well, the blame for this falls on Trudi (love ya, Trudi!), who ordered this magnificent piece of garbage from Netflix. Hey, it has Zoe Saldana, Carole Bouquet and Jason Isaacs in it; can’t be bad, right?

Wrong.

A plodding, tiresome wreck of a film, RB slouches along interminably, stopping on the way to showcase tedious dream sequences, a bit of fake blood and bland dialogue. Unconvincing stuff, methinks, which is sad because the original 1968 version directed by Roman Polanski was so involving.

It just goes to show you: Some things do not need a remake. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And so on.

Apparently, this latest version of the story was made for TV, but in this day and age, that’s not necessarily the kiss of death. Plenty of quality television hits the airwaves in this era, much of it on cable, and so there’s no excuse for not churning out a good product on the small screen.

In other words, this flick should’ve been a lot better … especially given its bloodlines. Maybe they should’ve remade Robot Monster instead.

These ruminations popped up while I was watching the film recently on TV. And yes, I sat through the entire flick … which I hadn’t done in ages. I admired the snappy editing, the fierce car chases. Even the crisp dialogue seems tailored to speed things along. It’s a fast-moving, zippy movie.

But again: not enjoyable. Downbeat. Unpleasant. I guess that’s the point—it does, after all, concern the possibility of a post-apocalyptic future where unstoppable machines roam the earth killing humans. Yet there’s something dreary about the whole thing, even when you factor in the idea that it’s not completely hopeless … that those terminators can be beat. I don’t get that feeling while watching another seminal, dark sci-fi picture, Blade Runner, which has a more positive outlook. In that film, machines have a human side. They seek life, while the construct in The Terminator wants death.

That, in my opinion, is a big reason why I enjoy watching Blade Runner. The characters are more complex, and the antagonist isn’t evil. He, like Pinocchio, has humanity. The terminator doesn’t.

It’s easier, I think, to create film villains without nuance. You can drop sneering, classical music and other standard ingredients into the blender and mix. A three-dimensional villain, however, is a lot more difficult … but can add more flavor. Yes, that’s beside the point in The Terminator, but this missing ingredient makes it less entertaining.

And I just think of replicant Roy Batty’s final speech in Blade Runner to prove it.

I don’t know about you, but every time I see an action movie these days, I expect the gore to pepper the screen with pixels.

It’s hard to run away from computer-generated imagery. It’s all over TV–from commercials to ongoing series. And it pervades the cinema, where it has become, in some cases, the main reason to see certain pictures.

Yes, filmmakers can do things with CGI that couldn’t have been achieved 40 years ago. But is that always a positive? Are we relying too much on high rather than low technology?

I worried about this recently while watching Life of Pi, whose CGI animals—especially the growling, boat-hogging tiger—had a gloss and fluidity of movement that seemed slightly off. It was a solid technical achievement, surely, and the cinematography was often stunning. Yet the animals seemed less “real” than the fighting skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts. The tiger showed its stripes.

That doesn’t mean I think we should go back to adjusting models frame by frame and discarding all cinematic developments … though the process of creating CGI creatures may only be slightly less onerous. But I do think something’s missing from most of the computer-crafted images used today, whether it’s a tiger or a snowflake. It’s not just naturalness; it’s essence. Those battling skeletons—ludicrous as they may be—draw me in. That smooth-purring tiger doesn’t.

Bad movies make me writhe. Stuck in my seat, knowing I paid mucho moola to watch them, I only have one recourse as the flicks meander on.

Fidget. Courageously.

It’s what I did while watching Oliver Stone’s dreadful Nixon, a dull, overstuffed journey into the life of Tricky Dick. The darkness of the theater, the film’s length and the fact that walking out would mean deserting my friends all prevented me from running the heck outta there.

So I writhed. Shifted in my seat. Tapped my fingers.

As Father Merrin from The Exorcist might cry: “The tedium of the movie compelled me!”

What else can we do in the face of such cinematic horrors? It’s even worse when you’re at a screening, where one must maintain a kind of politesse. Your power to criticize vocally is taken away from you. You’re even removed from any light—so there goes your ability to exit without stepping in someone’s popcorn.

The movie is your master. And you can’t do anything about it.

That’s why, these days, I prefer watching flicks on TV. You can always change the channel if, say, Nixon graces your screen. You can always go to the kitchen to get a snack or spend an inordinate time in the bathroom if the film takes too long.

The power of TV compels me … to embrace it. As well as remember that we still have the capacity, as consumers, to avoid the worst movies.